


epiphany (a new menu)

by phylocalist



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sweeney Todd Fusion, Light Angst, M/M, Strangers to Lovers, Weird Relationship Dynamics, fluff but like in a dark way, it's a sweeney todd au really what could you expect
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2021-02-26 21:34:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21675721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phylocalist/pseuds/phylocalist
Summary: “Fleet street,” he says, voice level yet wistful. “If you’re trying to find me, there’s no other place to look but there.”He walks down the gangplank before Sara can say anything else or he’s forced to make any promises. He has one objective only, a sole reason he came back to London for, and he will not be stopped before realizing it.Mila, he thinks, like a promise, looking up at the full, bright moon illuminating the sky. His fist clenches inside the pocket of his pants and his lips tighten.My sister. I’ll get you back, this time for sure.
Relationships: Mila Babicheva & Yuri Plisetsky, Mila Babicheva/Sara Crispino (background), Otabek Altin/Yuri Plisetsky
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10
Collections: Bright Lights: A YOI Musical Zine





	epiphany (a new menu)

**Author's Note:**

> hello again! this was written many moons ago for the [yuri!! on ice musical zine: bright lights](https://twitter.com/yoimusicalzine)! i got the honor of working on my first pick of a musical, which was sweeney todd, and got to write some good good murder (to-be) husbands! thank you so, so much to the zine mods for allowing me to work with you and for the amazing zine experience. it was such a joy to work with you and i'm still astounded i got picked to write for it. <3
> 
> this fic stops right before sweeney goes all murder-crazy, so no graphic violence or gore is present in this fic, don't worry. the mature rating is simply to be on the safe side!
> 
> i had sooo much fun coming up with a plausible backstory to make this otayuri and to not make yuri have some unnamed daughter, so i hope you enjoy the backstory i came up with! if you have any questions about it, do leave them in the comments and i'll try to get to them asap!!
> 
> lastly, thank you so much to [zhady](https://twitter.com/pxssnelke) for betaing this fic! you definitely made it better than it was before. <3

The sway of the boat is gentle, almost imperceptible as they dock. Yuri stands at the deck, looking out at the dark streets of London—their familiarity and their strangeness, all at once. Things have changed significantly in the past decade he’s been gone, imprisoned by a crime he did not commit.

London’s usually busy streets are nearly empty of people, being the middle of the night, and it still somehow manages to appear beautiful under the pale moonlight: eerie, in a way, like it’s an illusion that will disappear the moment he blinks. Yuri knows, though, that no matter how prettily London dresses, it will never be able to get rid of the stench it exudes: the crime, the hate and the injustice that are part of the city’s very core.

“Mr. Plisetsky?” A voice comes from slightly behind him. He recognizes it immediately: the young sailor that had been the only one brave—and foolish, Yuri’d argue—enough to constantly talk to him. Sara, she’s called, a lady older than him but with such a youthful and naïve aura that he often forgets the fact. “Is everything alright? We’re disembarking now.”

Yuri hums, neglecting to reply for a moment and continuing to admire the view of the empty docking bay.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Sara says, because she always feels the need to fill in the silences. Yuri’s sure if he looked at her, her eyes would be shining in awe. “I have never been in London before. Have you, sir?”

“I have,” Yuri replies, his tone denoting his apathy towards the city. “Many years ago. It looked pretty on the outside, but has always been ugly on the inside. I can’t imagine it being anything but, even after all this time.”

“Well,” Sara says, and Yuri can see her shrug from the corner of his eye, like she’s shaking off his negativity. “I shall be the judge of that.”

“You shall.” Yuri hikes up his satchel higher up on his shoulder and turns around, walking back to the gangplank so he can disembark.

“Wait!” Sara shouts behind him and Yuri turns. She looks beautiful in the moonlight, all tan skin and long black hair. Exactly the kind of woman that London loves to eat up and destroy. A strange sense of protectiveness tugs at Yuri’s heart, but he suppresses it. He already has a beautiful woman to take care of, he doesn’t need another one. “I might need a guide through London and since you know it so well, maybe you could help me? Where can I find you?” 

She doesn’t even give him the choice to say no, and he has to smirk at her assertiveness. Maybe she won’t be so easily gobbled up by the city after all. With a spine as strong and a will as stubborn as hers, she might survive all the same.

Yuri exhales, looking out into the dark streets, mind-mapping the exact route he needs to take to get _home_. It has been etched into his soul by now, he has no need for directions or instructions, he knows exactly where he belongs.

“Fleet street,” he says, voice level yet wistful. “If you’re trying to find me, there’s no other place to look but there.”

He walks down the gangplank before Sara can say anything else or he’s forced to make any promises. He has one objective only, a sole reason he came back to London for, and he will not be stopped before realizing it.

 _Mila_ , he thinks, like a promise, looking up at the full, bright moon illuminating the sky. His fist clenches inside the pocket of his pants and his lips tighten. _My sister. I’ll get you back, this time for sure._

*

_Altin’s Pirozhki_ , the sign above the door reads.

Yuri steps into the store without hesitation. A little bell announces his entrance with a ring and he watches as a short, young man walks into the store from a side door; coming from the house, most likely.

“Oh, a customer,” the young man mutters, getting to work dusting off the counter and offering up a glass of water for Yuri, placing it on the table in front of him.

Yuri sits and sips at the water as he takes a look around the store. “You’ve done some redecorating.”

The young man seems to examine him for a second, eyes curious, before asking, “Have you been here before, sir? Pardon me if I’m mistaken, but I don’t think I’ve seen you come into the shop before.”

“Oh, no,” Yuri dismisses. “I used to live here, a long time ago—that is what I’m talking about.”

“I see,” the young man muses, rolling out dough on the counter. His motions seem mechanic, almost bored. 

Yuri sees a cockroach scurry over the counter and watches as the young man quickly smashes it with the rolling pin without even flinching. He grimaces. Should he even be eating anything that they sell him here? He eyes the half-empty glass of water dubiously. Maybe not even that is safe.

“What kind of filling would you like, sir? Our specialty is meat,” the clerk says, his voice switching to a sweeter tone certainly reserved for customer service. He wears a very small smile, that slightly unsettles Yuri.

“What kind of meat?”

“Meat,” the clerk repeats simply, his voice monotone and his smile unwavering. It makes a chill run through Yuri.

The unsettling feeling starts growing bigger in Yuri, so he quietly starts to gather his things, planning to bolt at the first sign of distraction. The young man seems to notice his movements, though, and he comes towards Yuri.

“No, please—stay. We’ve hardly had a customer in weeks. Times are hard and meat is just hard to acquire, so we have to scrape by,” the clerk says, his voice soft and nonintrusive but somehow pinning Yuri on the spot. He bows down to whisper into Yuri’s ear with an air of confidentiality, “I’ll tell you, I think Mr. Leroy here out front has been getting his meat from… less desirable sources.” He darts a quick look out the window and then turns to Yuri to mouth one single word: “Kitties.”

Yuri gasps, immediately taking one hand to his mouth. How could someone kill innocent cats and then stuff food with them to sell? Certainly the clerk was jesting, there was no way—

But, deep down, Yuri knows. London is a filthy city with abhorrent crimes at its core, and if such a thing were to happen, it would be here. He looks into the eyes of the clerk, who nods once. He also doesn’t look like he’s lying.

“Tell you, sir…” the young man starts, tilting his head with curiosity. “I _may_ have seen you before. The people my parents bought this house off of left some stuff behind, and your face seems familiar…”

Yuri’s heart clenches. Could there be things here that the orphanage managers left behind of his and Mila’s? If there was anything here that he could salvage of the past that has haunted him for over a decade, it would feel like a sliver of light in the grim darkness of the city.

The young man seems to notice his desperation, because he nods once and says, “Would you like to come take a look at them?”

*

There is a photobook, and a few odd toys and keepsakes, none of which had belonged to either him or Mila. He’s sure the Judge had taken all proof of Mila’s existence with him when he took her and burned all proof of Yuri’s. The photobook, though, Yuri remembers. 

Mr. and Mrs. Feltsman, the couple that ran the orphanage, kept it as a prized object in the house. There were photos of each and every single child that had ever passed through the house and yearly photos with the couple. Yuri runs his fingers delicately over one such photos—it had been taken the first year he and Mila had arrived at the orphanage, the first year they had had a roof over their heads and food in their bellies every single day.

He has to fight back tears as he looks at himself, a mere runt, showing a toothy grin with at least two teeth missing, and Mila by his side, taller and older, her fiery red hair a dark gray on the picture and her arm protectively thrown over Yuri’s shoulders. They look _happy_. Yuri had forgotten they could look like that.

“Mr. Babicheva?” The voice of the young man is soft, but it startles Yuri so much to hear that last name directed at himself that he shuts the photobook closed.

Fiery anger bubbles under his skin as Yuri turns to look at the young man with daggers for eyes. The clerk had known exactly what he was doing by bringing Yuri back here and showing him this, even knew his _name_ —the one Mila had given to him with so much joy, and the one the Judge had stripped away from him forcefully.

“My name,” Yuri starts, his voice thunderous, enunciating every word very carefully, “is Yuri Plisetsky.”

“I—,” the young man stutters, seemingly finally realizing the dangerous territory he’s threading. He lowers his head minutely. “Yes, of course, Mr. Plisetsky,” he concedes. After a moment of consideration, he extends one hand towards Yuri, his eyes serious and solemn. “My name is Otabek Altin, and I have a proposition for you.”

*

The barber shop attachment is exactly how Yuri remembers it. He was never in for a shave himself, as his years with the Feltsmans were mostly in his childhood, but he’d always loved to come in and snoop around as he watched Mr. Feltsman do his job. He was taught a few things as well; when he showed interest in the craft, Mr. Feltsman gave him lessons on how to hold the blade and sometimes let him practice on the older kids of the orphanage.

Everything is dusty now, covered in white sheets and cold. It never used to feel this cold when Mr. Feltsman was working here; it was always warm and welcoming.

Yuri pulls off the white sheet thrown over the barber chair and watches for a moment as a big cloud of dust raises up, the particles dancing in the air against the sunlight filtering in through the half-boarded up windows of the parlor. Then, he goes down on his knees and feels around the hardwood planks of the floor for that exact spot where his fingertip fits in the corner of a plank and—oh! There it is.

With silent reverence, Yuri pulls out the black dusty box from the hidden compartment of the floor. He unwraps it from the black cloth covering it, dusting it carefully. When he opens it, one of the rays of sunlight coming in through the windows catches on the silver blade and it blinds him for a moment. 

When he pulls the blade from the red velvet-covered inside, it weighs heavily in his hand with the memories of his past but it feels so light to hold and to maneuver at the same time. These were the blades that Mr. Feltsman adored so much and took such good care of, and Yuri feels slightly unworthy holding them. They were once used by a master barber, and now they’re in _his_ hands. A considerable downgrade.

“You know how to use them?” Otabek’s voice says near his ear, and a chill runs up Yuri’s spine at the realization that he didn’t even sense the boy coming closer. He moves silently and sinuously, like a cat in the shadows.

“I know a little,” Yuri replies, trying to keep the startle out of his voice. He has to remain composed, he can’t show this guy that he’s getting under his skin. “Mr. Feltsman taught me the basics before I was forced out by the Judge.”

“So you can work here?” Otabek asks, and it doesn’t even sound like a question; it sounds like he’s simply telling Yuri the facts.

Yuri nods hesitantly, unsure if he’s actually able to say no. “I don’t remember everything, though.”

“What better way to remember,” Otabek starts, fanning out one arm to encompass the whole of the room they’re in, “than by doing it again?”

Yuri grips the blade tighter in his fist, moving his wrist this way and that in the movements he’d practiced so long ago. The sunshine catches the blade every now and then, sending a sliver of light across the room. When he holds it up, the surface is so shiny and well-kept, he can see himself mirrored in it. He moves it slightly and he can see Otabek too, behind him, one hand on his shoulder.

“Alright,” he agrees. “We have a deal.”

*

The first time the Judge comes in, Yuri doesn’t even have to lure him into the barber shop. 

It’s like he was called upon by some divine judgement deity to stand directly under Yuri’s threshold. He carries himself with so much undeserved pride and power that Yuri wants to barf in his presence. He has to purposefully rein himself back in and stand with his back straight, offering the Judge a small, welcoming smile. _Like Mr. Feltsman would’ve done_ , he thinks.

“You’re a good barber, I’ve been told,” the Judge starts, his voice already filled with contempt, like Yuri has already failed whatever test he’s going to be putting him through. The Judge eyes him over once, sizing him up. “You look awfully young.”

“I am,” Yuri admits, because in the eyes of the Judge, he’s sure he’s but a mere runt. It also gives him cover; he’s sure the Judge doesn’t remember Yuri, because he’s changed much in the years since he was exiled, but he doesn’t want to take any chances. “But I’ve lived an interesting life and have learned many things.”

“Huh,” the Judge hums and walks into the parlor. His cane taps against the wooden floor and the sound makes the hairs in the back of Yuri’s neck stand up. “I guess you can show me and I’ll be the judge of that.”

For a moment, the phrase takes Yuri back a few weeks, to when Sara had said it to him on the docking bay. He wonders about her, how she’s doing, if she’s found London to be what she expected it to be or if she’s learned the truth of it. He has to shake his head to get rid of the thought, though, as the moment he’s been waiting for almost half his life has finally come to him. He needs to be present right now.

The Judge takes a seat in the chair and Yuri hurries over to drape a cloth over his chest and prepare the mixture for the shave. He hums distractedly as he does, going through the motions mechanically as he thinks about just how satisfying it’ll be the moment he finally gets his revenge. Every time he takes the brush to apply shaving cream on the Judge’s jaw, he eyes his throat.

The first few cuts of the blade are quick and precise, a mere ruse so the Judge will not suspect him. Why would he anyway? He’s only getting a shave from the new barber in town, who he’s been told is great at his job. There is nothing to suspect here. 

Yuri isn’t Yuri Babicheva, the younger brother of the girl he keeps hidden away somewhere like a prize. He’s Yuri Plisetsky, a young respectable man that has traveled the seas and acquired knowledge from all parts of the world.

When Yuri has carefully shaved off half of the Judge’s stubble, he holds his blade mere inches away from the vulnerable neck standing before him. It’s all going so smoothly that fear suddenly strikes him, pinning him in place.

Is this _really_ the moment he’s meant to be doing this? It _has_ to be, right? His whole life, from the moment the man in the chair stripped him away from his sister up to this point, has been leading up to _this_. His whole life depends on this moment.

And then, like he called it upon himself, the door to the parlor slams open.

Sara stands on the threshold of the parlor, still in plain sailor’s clothes, an almost manic smile on her face. She’s panting, like she’s run up the stairs that lead to the parlor, and she walks in with little care for what is happening in the barber shop.

“Mr. Plisetsky! I found her!” Sara says, delight in her tone, her eyes shining with awe. She looks like she’s just fallen in love. “My reason to come to London, I mean,” she explains herself quickly. “She’s red-haired and beautiful, but I think she’s trapped in this house—she never comes out and I can only see her and gesture to her through the window…”

The Judge suddenly stands up from the chair and Yuri startles, his arm reflexively moving back to a position where the blade won’t cause any harm. The Judge stares hard at Sara, and even with half a face full of shaving cream and half a shaved beard, he still looks powerful and intimidating.

“You’re the one meeting with my daughter?” The Judge spits out in Sara’s direction.

“I—” Sara stutters, looking to Yuri like she’s asking for help. Like Yuri can provide any. “If you mean the pretty girl in the big house, well I… only see her. Through her window. I don’t really _meet_ with her.” Sara’s tone is placating, like she’s trying to calm down an angry child.

Yuri’s head is spinning far too fast for him to comprehend all that is going on. Sara knows Mila, has seen her and talked to her as best she could, she _knows where Mila is_ . Yuri could go right now. He could ask Sara and she would tell him, she would lead him to the Judge’s house and Yuri could _finally_ meet Mila again after all these years, after all this time apart from his sister.

But the Judge looks furious at the mere mention of her. He walks towards Sara, his cane a heavy _thunk_ against the wood, and he stands just a few inches away from her. He points at her accusingly with one of his fingers.

“ _You’re_ the one putting all that nonsense into her head. All that about leaving and sailing the seas with you,” he hisses out. His face scrunches up in anger, and Yuri thinks he can see Sara shiver. “I’m _protecting_ her!” His yell rings out throughout the mostly empty parlor and Yuri’s hands clench into fists.

 _Protecting_ , he thinks sourly. _Like she ever wanted any of your protection._

The Judge wipes at his face with the cloth still draped over his shoulders and tosses it to one side, turning to Yuri. “Is this the kind of company you keep, barber?” He asks, one finger pointing towards Sara, venom in his voice. Yuri says nothing. The Judge’s face turns into an angry scowl, face hot with anger. “Then keep it. But I won’t be coming back.”

The world speeds up and slows down all at the same time as the Judge storms out of the parlor. Yuri stands frozen, unable to move, as he watches the retreating back of the Judge. His revenge, come and gone in an instant. 

The blade in his hand feels heavy, a rock weighing him down until he falls on his knees. There’s a ringing in his ears, and everything feels so far away.

_He’s gone._

“—setsky? Mr. Plisetsky?” Sara’s voice manages to come through the ringing as she walks closer to the spot where Yuri’s fallen to his knees.

 _She’s the one who made him leave_ , a voice says inside his head. _She’s the reason you couldn’t get your revenge._

“Get out!” Yuri yells before he can stop himself. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Sara’s hand, previously reaching for him, recoil in fear. _Serves her well_ , a bitter part of him thinks. When she doesn’t move, he yells again, louder: “GET! OUT!”

The skittering of Sara’s feet against the hardwood floor as she hurries to leave the parlor is somehow satisfying, and Yuri feels himself smile bitterly.

_He’s not coming back. She made him leave and he’s not coming back and you’ll never get to get your revenge and save Mila. You’ve failed and he will keep her for—_

Arms wrap around Yuri’s neck from behind as his thoughts start to spiral out of control, suddenly bringing them to a halt.

“You know it’s not her fault. She’s just a girl in love,” Otabek’s quiet voice says into his ear. Yuri watches, numb, as his hands travel from his shoulders down his arms and to his wrists. Otabek lifts up one of Yuri’s hands, the one still holding the razor, and Yuri does nothing to stop him. “You just have to wait a little more. He will come again.”

“He won’t,” Yuri hears himself croak out. “He hates Sara so much and he is so protective of Mila—he won’t come again.”

“He will,” Otabek repeats, and even though his voice is still the same quiet tone, there is something fierce behind it. His hands wrap tighter against Yuri’s wrist and he feels Otabek’s conviction like a living thing, worming itself into his blood and making the ringing in his ears disappear slowly. “We’ll make him. We’ll make everyone come.”

It’s like the words finally ignite something inside of Yuri, something he had felt buried deep inside but had ignored for a long time. The spark turns into flame quickly, and suddenly Yuri is standing up, taking Otabek by the arms and forcing him to stand up with him. Yuri’s eyes fire up, the bright green turning emerald-like in the dim lightning of the room.

“Yes!” He half-yells in crazed excitement. “We will make _everyone_ come!”

Otabek looks at him with wide eyes, the most expression Yuri’s seen him wear open on his face. He still looks confused, though, so he turns him until they’re both facing the mirror. He can see his own face, his eyes manic and lips stretched into a toothy grin. Yuri points at the mirror, the blade in his hand catching the light.

“You, me, everyone… we all deserve to die. This city is full of filth and I will cleanse it with these hands until the Judge sits on this chair again and I can fulfill my purpose.” Yuri’s voice is dark and low, purring into Otabek’s ear.

Yuri sees a small blush appear on Otabek’s cheeks as realization dawns on the young man and, reflected on the mirror, Yuri can see the exact moment the flame ignites inside Otabek too.

“What will you do with them afterwards?” Otabek asks, his head cocked one side, voice level but Yuri can see he’s holding something back.

Yuri shrugs. “I can just bury them somewhere far, nobody will miss them.”

“Hmm,” Otabek hums, his eyes downcast for a moment. Then he meets Yuri’s directly on the reflection of the mirror and there’s that flame again, a manic smile of his own dancing around in his eyes. “Seems like such an awful waste…” Otabek trails off for a moment, then adds when Yuri doesn’t get it, “With the price of meat.”

Yuri’s eyes narrow with recognition and he feels his smile turn wicked. “Oh, Mr. Altin,” he says, still purring into Otabek’s ear. “You’re so practical, my dear.”

In one swift move, Yuri closes the blade and tucks it into his pants, turning Otabek on his heels and placing one hand on his waist, the other taking Otabek’s hand into his. He waltzes them across the room, both of them laughing like children playing excitedly.

“It’s always been those above eating those down below,” Yuri says as they turn, and he drapes Otabek over his knee in a dip. “It’s beautiful to know we’ll be turning it on its head.”

Otabek lets himself be lifted up and led again as Yuri moves them across the room, marking the beat for their newfound life with the sound of their feet against the hardwood floor and the background music of their uninhibited delight.

“We’re just following history’s path,” Otabek replies matter-of-factly around a smile. “It’s man devouring man, my love.”

“These are desperate times, Mr. Altin.” Yuri turns Otabek, sliding his hand around the young man’s body as he rotates him. “They call for desperate measures.” He dips Otabek again, closing the distance between their faces by a mere inch this time. He can feel Otabek’s breath against his mouth and his eyes flick towards the young man’s lips once. “Oh, how I’ve lived without you all these years, Mr. Altin, I’ll never know.”

Another blush blossoms under Otabek’s cheeks, redder and more prominent this time. Yuri drags the pad of his pointer finger down Otabek’s face, from his nose until he touches his lower lip, and holds it there.

Yuri holds his breath and finger for one, two beats, and then pulls Otabek back up again, holding his hand and doing a curtsey as thanks for the dance. Body still bowed, Yuri looks up to Otabek’s still-pink face and grins devilishly.

“We can continue when you have Judge on the menu.”

**Author's Note:**

> as always, you can come find me on **[twitter](https://twitter.com/phylocalist)**! i admit i don't talk about yoi much anymore (i've been consumed by my chemical romance and chinese gays) but if you hit me up about yoi i'll ALWAYS be more than happy to talk about it!!


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